


now i'm the one left screaming through the night

by apricae



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Childhood Friends, Force Bonds, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Qui-Gon Jinn Lives, post-TPM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:34:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24099694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apricae/pseuds/apricae
Summary: Jedi Temple, Coruscant. Three months after the invasion of Naboo.Qui-Gon Jinn is alive - barely.
Relationships: Kit Fisto & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 10
Kudos: 139





	now i'm the one left screaming through the night

They were in the middle of form IV katas when it happened. Just as Kit started to think he might actually have this more down pat than Obi-Wan - why else would he be stopping, hesitating? - his friend’s breath caught. He glanced over, releasing himself easily from the embrace of living Force only to see Obi-Wan stopped dead, breathing hard, his gaze far away. His face twisted a little, like he was trying to remember something, like he was confused-

From the spectators’ tribune he heard little Anakin’s voice, as if through water. “Hey- What’s wrong-”

Obi-Wan’s face crumpled, and before Kit could open his mouth to ask, a pained scream tore the air of the Knights’ dojo - jarring, and startling, and entirely unexpected. Kit could only stand and watch in utter confusion for a moment as his friend collapsed, shaking, first to his knees and then onto the floor- Anakin’s voice mingled with Obi-Wan’s horrific wail.

“Master, what’s wrong with him- ?”

Kneeling at the Knight’s side, he had to admit - he had no idea. Obi-Wan trembled, arms tight around his middle, hands clutching at his stomach as his back bowed until Kit could see the ridges of his spine through the thin tunic. His presence in the Force felt jagged like the serrated edge of a knife, sharp and hard and about to shatter. He didn’t dare touch him. 

He became aware of Anakin running towards them, and of other Masters and Padawans peering into the dojo, alarmed at the sudden cries of agony. 

But, he thought wildly,  _ why _ ?

“Master Kit, what’s wrong- Why is he screaming like that? I don’t like it,” the young Initiate managed in-between Obi-Wan’s ragged breaths. His face scrunched with worry as he kept a few meters of distance, his bright fear palpable in the Force. 

“I don’t know, little Ani,” Kit heard himself reply. His voice was calm, even, though he knew that the boy could surely sense the worry seeping through his veins as Obi-Wan did not stop, only rolled onto his side to retch weakly, still screaming. “I don’t know. I have to help him-“ He cast about wildly, gaze roaming over the few bystanders, sensing their fright and uncertainty. “He needs help,” he called to someone - master Drallig, he realised belatedly. “Anakin, run to the healers. You’re fast. You know the way.”

Anakin, expression taut with worry, nodded once and turned on his heel to sprint away, parting the crowd. 

“...Obi-Wan? Can you hear me?”

No response - only more of that broken wailing. Obi-Wan still clawed at his stomach, mouth opening and closing, trying to form words. At last, he got them out between wretched moans and shaky breaths.

“Q-Qui-  _ Qui-Gon _ -“ 

Kit stared, horrified, as Obi-Wan’s eyes rolled back, another anguished scream torn from him as he writhed on the polished wooden floor. 

“Master Qui-Gon? But- He’s in the Halls- He’s not even-“ It dawned on him within a heartbeat, a cold terror settling in the Nautolan’s gut. Qui-Gon. Still in the halls of healing after three months, recovering from-  _ From a lightsaber to the gut _ \- The room spun as his sickening realisation made sudden sense.    
_ Obi-Wan never cut his training bond _ . 

  
  
  


Anakin’s legs carried him faster than human ability through the Temple; he hardly felt his feet strike the ground. Obi-Wan’s terrible, terrible screams echoing in his heart- The sweat drenching his ashen skin, the way he had torn at his tunic like his very skin was on fire- When he reached the Halls, bathed suddenly in soft golden light from the wide-open windows, it’s all he could do to focus his gaze on the nearest healer and yank at their robe. 

“Come, quickly! Please-“ Anakin’s breath came fast and hard. “Please, Obi-Wan is hurt, really badly too,  _ please _ -“ 

The Healer, a patient and kind-faced Rodian, knelt before him - their hands cool even through his tunic. 

“Where is he? I will go to him, young one.” The Rodian’s voice, melodious and airy, calmed Anakin’s spirit - barely. “Come, show me the way.” The healer stood once more, giving a call over their shoulder, sharp in the way only an adult’s voice got when they were terrified and trying not to alarm a child. Anakin had heard it before. Had heard it just now in Kit’s voice. Fear tightened in his throat.

_ Be a Jedi. Be a Jedi. Be brave. _

“This way- Hurry,” he urged, sprinting again from the Halls with the Rodian healer in tow. “I don’t know what happened, he was just screaming, something’s really wrong-“

Less than halfway back to the Knights’ dojo he spotted Kit, his heart suddenly sinking cold. Kit carried Obi-Wan in his arms, the Jedi silent now with his head falling limply backwards. Auburn hair plastered to his forehead made Obi-Wan look more pallid than ever, and the rise and fall of his chest was quick and erratic, as if he couldn’t catch air. 

Kit was more grave than Anakin had ever seen him. 

“Turn back,” he called, then again as they got closer. “Turn back! It isn’t Obi-Wan! It’s Qui-Gon, he’s-“ Kit stopped, fumbling for words as the Knight in his hold shuddered again, curling into himself and gasping out in pain - his hands trembled violently at his chest, white-knuckled fingers clutching the fabric. “They’re still bonded,” Kit settled on, urgency shining in his dark eyes. “Qui-Gon is in pain- I think he’s awake.”

Anakin could only keep running, following the adults on their hurried path back to the Halls, head full of questions but his mouth dry and throat shut tight. 

  
  
  


“Put him down here,” the healer commanded, their soft voice tense and brooking no argument. “Give him some air. I’ve asked Master Che to see to Qui-Gon.”

Anakin started forward, not at all ready to listen to the Rodian’s command of leaving Obi-Wan be. Not when he was convulsing hard, little coughing breaths expelled between deep, anguished cries. Not when every line of Obi-Wan’s body kept tensing, not when he looked ready to claw open his own skin, not when Anakin could sense his terror and pain. 

“It’s- it’s-“ Obi-Wan sobbed, coughed again, face twisting. “Qui-Gon-  _ master _ -“

“I’m here,” Anakin said, his voice sounding small and distant to his own ears. “Please don’t go- Please, don’t die, I don’t want you to die.” He crawled closer, ignoring the Rodian healer’s protests, drawing Obi-Wan half into his lap with an effort. The muscles beneath his hands kept tensing, shaking, Obi-Wan’s body protesting violently. Anakin clutched at his sweat-soaked tunic, his words coming out as half-sobs. 

“Don’t go, you said you wouldn’t, you promised… I don’t want you to die-“ He glanced up to Kit, who still stood by the healer’s side. “Is he gonna die? Please don’t let him,” he managed, wiping furiously at his own tears as Obi-Wan shook. “Don’t let him.”

  
  
  


Qui-Gon only surfaced from his deep healing trance for a few minutes - eight, exactly, eight minutes of blinding agony as his body relived the terrible wound. Eight minutes of opening his eyes but seeing only white, white and then darkness again as the healers fussed around him (their lives so distant in the Force, his outward senses numbed) until he found again the blissful embrace of sleep. 

  
  
  


Obi-Wan trembled. Then he went limp, suddenly, half falling out of Anakin’s hold as his dead weight nearly became too much for the little boy to hold onto. But his terrible screams vanished on his lips, and Anakin looked tearfully to the healers, begging them silently to make it better, make it all better, to make Obi-Wan open his blue eyes again and smile and say  _ hello there, Anakin, I hope you’re studying hard _ . The healers, he realised, could not do that, but they did lift Obi-Wan from the floor and onto a cot with clean white sheets. Anakin sat still, on the floor, feeling as if Obi-Wan had given away all his trembling and now it would live in Anakin’s bones instead. 

“Hey,” said a voice, a deeper and accented one, and the voice belonged to Obi-Wan’s friend. He was smiling slightly. “You did really well, little Ani. He’s going to be okay.”

Anakin, at a lack of anything else to do, still shaking, threw himself into Kit’s arms and cried. 

  
  
  


“Master,” Obi-Wan mumbled, words slurring together as he awoke. The Rodian healer - Ji Endi, Anakin now knew - was quickly at his side. “I have to…” Obi-Wan struggled against their gentle hands, forcing himself upright - he shivered violently, doubled over on the bed, still in his sparring tunic. 

“I have to see him. He was- He was in such  _ pain- _ “

“He will recover,” Ji Endi said in their soft, smooth voice, a spindly hand settling between Obi-Wan’s shoulder blades. “You need rest, knight Kenobi.”

“No-  _ No _ , I have to- He was calling for me,” Obi-Wan managed, his voice hoarse and thin. “He needs me.”

The conviction in his eyes burned like a saber blade. 

“Just a moment, then,” the Rodian deigned gently. “Careful - I do not yet know if you should stand on your own.”

“I can.” And Obi-Wan stood - knees buckling, but he caught himself on the wall, stubborn devotion shining through every fibre of his being. Qui-Gon  _ needed _ him. He could not fail him again- He would not. Shuddering, he braced himself, walking briskly - if unsteadily - across the hall to where Qui-Gon lay in his trance. 

The sight alone was enough to undo him all over again. Qui-Gon was thinner than ever, pale, almost wilted. His long hair tied back, cheeks sunken and eyes hollowed, he was nothing at all like the master drenched in the Living Force that Obi-Wan had known so well. Most striking at all was the plastoid brace snugly fitted around his middle. Pristine white hid what Obi-Wan knew to be a gruesome wound - one he himself had touched, suffusing the dying tissue with the Force until Qui-Gon was breathing steady in his arms, in that horrid chamber in Theed. 

He felt tears on his cheeks. 

“Hello, Master.” He stumbled near the cot, caught himself on the edge of it, numbly sat down. Tried - and failed - to keep his anguish from his voice. “You called for me, so I’m- I’m here,” he said, voice breaking. “I’m here. I promise.” Gently, he took one broad hand into his own, familiar lightsaber calluses greeting his still-shaking fingers.

Gently, almost imperceptibly, Qui-Gon’s fingers squeezed his. 

“I’m here. We’re going to be okay.”


End file.
